50 meteors an hour and I spotted one

It is a treasured memory of my daughters' childhood. Our family, lying beneath a summer blanket of stars, entranced for hours by a meteor shower.  This magical evening was the artistic muse for a priceless painting that has graced my walls for well over a decade.

Interpretation, of course, is crucial.  One might initially mistake the prone figures as victims of carnage beneath blasting bombs. But closer inspection reveals a loving family in alarming stages of undress, lying upon the grass. When this artwork came home from school, my husband protested the integrity of its depiction. "I'm pretty sure I was wearing a shirt," he claimed, "for the mosquitos alone!" The sweet misspellings serve as earnest evidence of age although I must confess that the artist never did completely master the skill of orthography.

So it was with bittersweet excitement that I learned of the recent Perseid Meteor showers. The stars were beckoning. I took a lingering look at the painting before heading out into the darkness. The cast of canine characters had changed.  My daughters, Savannah and Sydney, were in Connecticut. It would be Brad and I who would seek these August skies for renewed inspiration.

I didn't blink as I stared at that sky. Airplanes never failed to fool me. I grew annoyed as Brad pointed out satelites. I grew more annoyed as he spotted first one, then two, then three meteors while I saw nothing. Delighted by the show, he called Connecticut. Sydney apparently got up off the couch, walked out to Savannah's little balcony, looked up and immediately saw a meteor. I stomped my feet in frustration.  Pleased with her sighting, Sydney rushed off to wake her sister and dragged her out to the balcony where, you guessed it, Savannah immediately saw a meteor.  I stared and stared, my heart leaping with the sight of each airplane. After what seemed like a lifetime, I glimpsed my shooting star. We all had. It had been an inspiring evening.